


Whumptober 2020

by deadly_tues_days



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Depowered Kurosaki Ichigo, Depressed Kurosaki Ichigo, Gen, Hurt Ishida Uryuu, Hurt Kurosaki Ichigo, Injured Kurosaki Ichigo, Kurosaki Ichigo Whump, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadly_tues_days/pseuds/deadly_tues_days
Summary: One day, and he had been given everything he desired, the ability to protect. One day, and he had been condemned to know nothing other than pain.Whumptober 2020 Personal Fic CollectionTags will be added as we go.
Relationships: Hirako Shinji & Kurosaki Ichigo, Ishida Uryuu & Kurosaki Ichigo, Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Shackled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only person the substitute could blame for this was himself. An inkling of control, of power, would have driven him away from falling into the enemy’s hands, and would have kept him from stumbling away from his friends. It was as if he was bound to lose control, to be useless, similar to how he had been bound to a wall for over a week.

Anxiety over the up-and-coming showdown was present, and accounted for, yet no plan had been put forth.. He had been running on nervous energy, as well as the fragments of information he had yanked out of Kisuke, prior to the distance Ichigo had put between him, and his friends, or any sign of life at that, on the instinct he had come to dread. The same instinct that set a permanent divide between those near Ichigo, none of them knowing the cause aside from Urahara, which was unbeknownst to Kurosaki who was dead set on keeping this secret from the shopkeeper, and the other blonde that had made himself known in the substitute’s social life. Shinji Hirako. A Vizard, reportedly, the group’s apparent leader that had driven the wedge further into the wood in spite of appearing before Ichigo’s friends as well, though they were overall unsuspecting. Oblivious, even when the sickly pale, and awfully tan duo appeared with a set of abilities that mimicked that of their new classmate, and reeked of an undocumented breed, not that his friends knew he suspected the Vizards, or even knew that the elusive group existed, and were hellbent on recruiting him into their ranks. 

The substitute had declined, so they resolved to capture him, though it was an unnecessary, and very much unsuspected war tactic. It began with what in the hell Aizen wanted with hollow hybrids, and why Ichigo had gone from a recruitment offer recipient to the subject of attacks if inviting him into their ranks was ideal. It ended with the realization, the physically painful realization, that they weren’t the Vizards, and that the real Vizards were far from a group of Aizen’s cohorts. Now, questions, thoughts, confusion, and pain were the only thing his captors would permit. Who were the Vizards, if they were separate from those who captured him? How did they know of Ichigo’s loss of sanity in Soul Society?What did Aizen get from his imprisonment? If the rumours were true, and by rumours Kurosaki meant insults from a singular arrancar, a new word for the new hybrids he’d been taught through a session of explanation followed by torture that Ichigo refused to react to, he was essentially worthless after his slip up, his loss of control, during the first battle of the war lost by himself. He was useless, and there was no need for Aizen to keep him around.

It was barely a battle, minimal forces having been sent out and minimal effort having been put forth on Aizen;’s behalf, but it counted as a severe loss against the Soul Society, and those in the World of the Living. It disproved the theory Kisuke formed, and had enough faith in to share bits, and pieces with the Gotei, and hurt the Soul Society by snatching up their one hope, something only two people outside of the Gotei, that being credited to Urahara as well as Aizen, were aware of. Kurosaki was taken from the Soul Society’s loose reigns, a pathetic attempt to keep him for themselves, a failure due to their worry about being found out by the substitute, without second thought, and Kisuke was set to move to theory, and plan, B. He had to recapture Ichigo, for personal reasons alongside those involving the outcome of the war he’d failed to inform Kurosaki of, not that he could shoulder total blame considering Ichigo’s own supposed secrets from the shopkeeper, without alerting the Soul Society. Regardless of Yamamoto’s, and similarly aged captains, opinions on the Vizards whose innocence had come to light after Sosuke’s defection, they were still convicted criminals whom Urahara had sworn to protect, their newest member, Ichigo, included.

The infamous plan B had commenced. The plan Kisuke despised due to its prerequisites. The plan Ichigo had come to pray for about three days in. He was shackled to a wall, and was the laughing stock of the Espada, another word recently added to his vocabulary that described Aizen’s hand chosen warriors. They seemed to be aware of the trouble Kurosaki caused, and went through in the Soul Society, and, despite doubting any abilities with the exception of their own, were shocked that a mere kid respected by Aizen, apparently enough so to warrant his capture, ended up in their grasp without so much as spitting at their feet,

Two of the Espada, alongside Gin, had taken an interest in the substitute’s new housing arrangement, the latter going as far as to strike up conversation during each of his many visits. Ichigo had been set up in a cell the size of his former bedroom, yet the Sekkiseki walls, and the door that carried the sound of iron, but the appearance of the blue tinted spiritually restricting rock, provided no such comforts. He was a mere toy stuffed into a poorly made dollhouse, a fact Kurosaki didn’t hesitate to share, and was subject to his enemy’s mental, and physical torment. Questioning motives, and his friends’ loyalty, as he awaited an arrancar to come along to play seeped past the boundaries of his already compromised, due to the hollow who had made himself more than known as of late, mind. It was no longer mere insults from Ulquiorra, who he learned was initially tasked with his abduction, and care opposed to the larger of the two who had made their first appearance to Ichigo in a park that sat on the border of Karakura. His ample free time was now plagued by a lower ranking Espada’s, a blue haired arrancar known as Grimmjow, as well as the problem child, attempts to rip up Aizen's new toy.

As he awaited his supposed rescue, Ichigo had already been reduced to a torn up plaything that rivaled Kon’s weakness, even if the drainage of energy instigated by the reiatsu reducing chains encompassing his bruised wrists didn’t count. Grimmjow was adamant when it came to proving Ulquiorra wrong about his comments on Kurosaki’s inferiority, further highlighting his role as a troublemaker considering his argument was that Aizen had to have a reason for pursuing the substitute. Either that, or the Sixth Espada stated Aizen surpassed Ulquiorra’s idiocy, an insult Ichigo was certain didn’t go unheard taking into account Gin’s desire to hide in the shadows. The question was if the former captain of the third even cared to spill his subordinate’s secrets to Sosuke, or if lurking, and throwing a few disapproving glances towards the bloodthirsty arrancar, was as far as Ichimaru needed to go to get his thrill. Regardless, the substitute had come to favour Gin’s presence, aside from the ‘tips’ he could only assume was mockery, for it usually resulted in a significant lack of bloodshed. 

Over the course of eight days, the insults constantly spewing from Kurosaki’s lips, be it from defiance, or an attempt to ease the pain, had ceased. He was exhausted, still overwhelmingly confused, and anger had already begun to contaminate the pain brought about by the absence of rescue attempts. Three days had sparked the realization that maybe he wouldn’t always be alright, and five more had only added to the growing fear that those in the World of the Living had given up on him. As far as Ichigo was aware, the Soul Society had no intention of sending someone in after him seeing as there was a severe lack of legitimate shinigami at the scene in which the substitute’s capture was scripted. He couldn’t necessarily blame them, the technology in the Seireitei was not a familiar subject, but he certainly could start to count something against Urahara, as well as his other human, more or less, friends. He’d shied away from group training sessions, and other normal teenage tasks such as group hollow hunting, opting to go it alone when he could, which wasn’t often with Keigo always on his tail about his reclusive behaviour. Kurosaki never pushed on skipping school, or all out ignoring anyone for that matter, and his absence should have been seen as an issue among his friends for this time, he was nowhere in sight.. He was trapped in a madman’s dollhouse with no means of escape from the frigid cell, nor cuts that reappeared each day along with his approval seeking tormentor. 

Ichigo had grown certain medical attention, the type of attention he despised due to the worry it caused others, was needed, even if the disabling pain in his back that he didn’t know for certain the direct cause of, though it was most likely an infection, ceased. Feeling like shit was a vast understatement. It hurt like hell, everything did, except for when it didn’t. The periods he was too drained to register the pain, much less Gin’s pitiful comments, were growing in length, and the only hope of tapping into his sealed energy preserves came along with the hope of rescue, a wish Kurosaki was beginning to worry wouldn’t come true. Gin clearly thought otherwise, happy enough to drop a few hints on what Aizen was thinking, even going far enough as to state that he had begun to doubt the former captain of the fifth’s supposed psychic abilities. Ichimaru was more than thrilled to throw bits, and pieces of Aizen’s plans, as well as offer criticism that the substitute prayed never got back to Sosuke. Not that he sympathized with Gin, he was just another enemy Ichigo couldn’t for the life of him understand.

The former captain of the third seemingly acted as a double edged sword, willing to turn from praising to criticizing its master in a matter of seconds. Ichigo supposed he could be viewed as the same way, for once Gin let it slip that they had come for him, Kurosaki had a few wishes as to who ‘they’ was, the visits had stopped all together, including those from Ulquiorra, and Grimmjow. It was complete radio silence for the better part of the ninth day, or night, he didn’t know, it was simply a matter of twenty four hour increments. There were no meals, no rumours, no pleasant visits, no torture, nothing. There was absolutely nothing until half a day later when his last visit in that cell was paid. The one who coughed up the cash ended up being Urahara, who offered minimal explanation, yet laid heavy on the silent reassurances as he broke the reiatsu reducing chains that had rubbed Ichigo’s wrists raw in some areas, while painfully bruising others.

As Kisuke flash stepped through the pristine halls of Las Noches Kurosaki still had yet to see, silence had consumed the substitute’s world yet again. He was exhausted, in pain, and still confused despite the answers to all his questions being one sentence away. A handful of words he didn’t particularly want to say, not that he could manage much considering he was holding his breath, and clenching his jaw in an attempt to remain silent through the movement induced pain. Still, he had his inquiry prepared for the second they returned home, though how he wasn’t sure, the first question being if the shopkeeper’s silence was any indication Ichigo looked as bad as he felt. A meaningless joke that served as an icebreaker, a little over a week having increased the space between Urahara, and Kurosaki. There was a ditch whose sides continued to erode, that is until the former captain of the twelfth silently broke the chains, the barriers that had been all Ichigo knew for the past days, and picked the substitute up with no hesitation when it came to dirtying his treasured olive coloured robes that peeked out from behind the black cloak situated atop Kisuke’s everyday fit. He had no hesitation when it came to grabbing Kurosaki, and running, prompting Ichigo’s second question that would have to wait. Did this dumbass come alone?

“Ichigo,”

It was a far cry from Urahara’s typically laxed attitude, the shinigami quite obviously uncomfortable with the situation, if the worried glances, and lack of a flowery report on the current happenings didn’t speak enough volumes.

“Yeah?”

“Did they reach out to you? The Vizards?”

The only person the substitute could blame for this was himself. An inkling of control, of power, would have driven him away from falling into the enemy’s hands, and would have kept him from stumbling away from his friends. When Urahara finally offered an explanation, along with Shinji who had hung around per the shopkeeper’s request, the blame had drifted towards Aizen, but the weight hadn’t been lifted. If he had an inkling of control, of power, he wouldn’t have been so damn useless. If Ichigo had an inkling of control, he wouldn’t have broken down in front of Kisuke, a mere day of being laid up in the guest room with no visitors having pulled the fear, instigated by the hollow holed up in his head, and anger, over Urahara’s covering up of the truth, right out into the open. Ichigo had to gain control, and the only way was through the Vizards who had left following the pity party thrown for each and every one of them, though Kurosaki had brushed off any questions regarding his well being. Questions which weren’t pleading for detail on his affairs considering the wound was still fresh, and everyone, including the substitute, preferred to dance around the subject of Ichigo’s capture. Kisuke preferred not only to pass up conversation on current events, but also what the currents led to. That is until Kurosaki was ready, and ready the substitute was seeing as the second he managed to move his left leg with bearable pain, he made sure to kiss Urahara back, and tell the blurred memories of what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there ya go! this was not beta-d, though it probably should have been, so all mistakes are on my exhausted brain. i'm sick right now, yet i hoped this story was the good kind of sick. hehe. anyways, i just had to throw in some uraichi at the end for a friend. hope you enjoyed! <3


	2. Pick Who Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing but silence, and the shifting of the controlled beams of light towards the two other boys’ leader. Silence that was soon broken by the pounding of feet as the punks retreated, and a small moan as Ichigo released the breath he’d been holding.  
> “He’s dead?”  
> “And he won’t shut up about it either,”  
> One more second, and the whole debacle would’ve provided the answer the other students were searching for.  
> “It wouldn’t have happened had I done what I should’ve done,”  
> “I don’t know how many times I’m gonna need to say this to you, but it’s not your fault,”  
> “Maybe not, but it’s not fair,”  
> “With the amount of times you’ve said that as of late, I need you to specify, unfortunately,”  
> “It’s not fair ‘cause I wanted to pick myself,”

It wasn’t as if he could do anything. He couldn’t do much, didn’t care to do much, since complete, impartial life had become quotidian, opposed to the routine veil jumping during late night hollow hunts. The only thing Kurosaki was capable of hunting now was, aside from the death that he had grown so accustomed to, reason for the brutal abandonment by shinigami in the Soul Society, and World of the Living alike, as well as his spiritually aware friends whom had given up after a few months of pampering the former substitute, and the Vizards who had claimed him as family, and left him for the dogs. It eventually got to the point where the dogs wouldn’t stop yapping, hatred for his powerlessness, and consistent reminders of the pain, until he forcefully shut them up through sleep that never seemed to be long enough to quench his thirst for his formerly voice filled conscience. Yapping eventually turned growling, his personal hatred bleeding into his thoughts of others, the ones who left him behind, and didn’t look back, which, in turn, bounced right back to him through guilt.

A handful of months later, ten months in which the world spun painstakingly slow, and horrifyingly fast simultaneously, the dogs, or at least a group of vengeful punks who Ichigo regarded as less than dogs, had caught him. They bit down, ripping a hole through the right thigh of his black denim jeans, and dirtying them with far more blood than what was dripping down his nose, and dotting the white graphic hoodie that had the kanji for ‘strawberry’ printed across his now bruised chest. They bit down, and they didn’t let go, dragging the staggering seventeen year old towards his doom, thoroughly pissed when the formerly dignified Kurosaki closed his eyes, and let them take him. 

There was absolutely no way he could do anything. Zip-ties around his wrists or not, moving wasn’t an option. Salvaging the outfit he’d put on to shield him from the frigid temperatures that were sure to bring snow, yet another reminder of next everything he’d lost the last time the weather turned cold, and harsh, within the next few weeks wasn’t possible either. A white shirt, not that he particularly cared for what he wore, or anything he did anymore, of all things had been subject to the effects of the swing aimed at his nose by his slender black haired captor whom Ichigo supposed was the leader seeing as he was the first to make a snide remark about his recent weight, and muscle loss that offered his assailants an advantage. His jeans had taken the brunt of the first squabble, ripped, and soaked in blood opposed to the spatters that littered his now similarly drenched top, though this soaking was due to his careful placement atop a puddle that sat in the cracking concrete of the far right corner. Far according to the door parallel to him, as well as the other victim who the former substitute suspected had been comparably tossed to the far left. 

It wasn't an ideal situation, but the lack of panic, and fight went on to show that Kurosaki couldn’t care less as to how he spent his time. The other boy, perhaps a tad older than Ichigo, the two both being significantly younger than their attackers, much unlike his companion, was seething. Not pissed enough to demand an appearance of his captors, or to even inquire as to how long he was out for, not that anyone was awake long enough to inform him, but furious to the point of struggling to his feet, knees collecting dirt as he situated himself upon them. An act of someone relatively uninjured. An act that the former substitute couldn’t afford to commit.

Ichigo had the option of speaking up, but his curiosity had long since dulled, and he had no genuine concern over making it out of this alive. Whether his lack of fear was due to experience that he longed to forget, having no memories of what he had would ease the pain, or due to the general disinterest that had invaded his life was unknown. The only thing Kurosaki did know for sure right now was that the room, what he assumed to be the basement of a public facility due to its concrete makeup, was far more unforgiving than the already frigid weather outside. It was also unforgiving in the sense that if he were still outside, walking home, he wouldn’t have been the victim of a stabbing that rendered his human body useless enough to be subject to a beating, and kidnapping. Aside from his own personal failure, as far as Kurosaki knew, he had endured abuse simply because of the new physical appearance he’d taken on prior to the Winter War. However, the former substitute soon realized he didn’t know all too much once accusations flew again upon the arrival of the group of punks that forced Ichigo, and the now yelling boy into submission. 

Apparently, a gut wrenching reality, they had been targeted due to their secret, and overly crazy ‘talking to thin air’ tendencies. That statement was enough to force his mind to replay every moment he was with somebody in the past year. It got him thinking, finally understanding, and then the boy started yelling in response. The boy. His voice was recognizable, albeit barely through the screaming, but Ichigo knew if it wasn’t for the lack of working lights he would’ve recognized his appearance with ease. A classmate. A friend. A former friend. Uryu Ishida. Kurosaki firmly believed it was his turn to yell, instead of the kid who had been screaming for quite a few, amusing to the onlookers, minutes.

“Ishida?”

Nothing. Too quiet.

“Ishida!”

The swerve of attention towards Ichigo had him regretting each, and every of the two words he’d spoken since being tossed in the pitch black, save for the now turned on flashlights the punks were armed with, room. It was an absolutely ridiculous feeling of anger with himself over calling the quincy by name, and the statement following his exclamation increased the pain, and fury tenfold.

“So, you guys are on good terms with each other then?”

A pause, a chuckle. 

“It’s a shame our experiment won’t allow that to last long,”

Kurosaki’s feelings, both mental, and physical, prompted a second statement that carried no regret.

“Good terms my ass, you shithead,”

“Hmm? Better news. Our test will help the both of us, one way or another. Succeed, you get to work out your problems while we get our fix of entertainment. Fail, you never have to see each other again,”

Experiment. Test. It didn’t sound good, and not because of the obvious implications involved. If something went wrong, he would end up in Soul Society. If something went right, he would end up here, most likely on the brink of death, with the kid that had wanted nothing to do with him in months. 

“It’s funny you call us crazy, and then believe a test of our intelligence is valid. Then again, I don’t believe you mean that type of test. Regardless, I do believe I’m going to pass. By that I mean, I either intend to walk out of here with Kurosaki right now, or force me, and I will succeed without your entertainment. Like you said, one way or another,”

A speech, though the former substitute didn’t know what else to expect, that already contradicted itself seeing as the three boys standing in the doorway already seemed more than entertained at the thought that someone could possess more brain cells despite their idiotic ways.

“Alright, smartass. You can pick. Pick which one of you dies, so we can prove our theory that you two can talk to the dead,”

“Smartass? Says the person who thinks ghosts are real,” Uryu countered.

Easy deflection on Ishida’s behalf, though Kurosaki no longer required the need to deny any such accusations. 

“I’d appreciate it if you’d pick while we all have time. College is a bitch. One of you will find that out next year. Now pick,”

“No,”

A short answer, and this time Ichigo expected something more. Either something along the lines of ‘I gave up caring about that kid ages ago,’ or a less tame remark to further piss off the trio before them. 

“No? Hey, strawberry, you wanna decide? Figure I could help ya out seeing you seem to hate him a lot more,”

It was hatred, but it wasn’t his fault. One thank you, one goodbye, one reason, anything to allow Ichigo to understand his friend’s mutual ignorance would’ve been enough. He was left with quite literally nothing, though, and felt closer to death, factoring in the invisibility, and pain, than he truly had been in nearly a year.

“No,”

“Both of you wanna be difficult? Fine. Offer is back to you, four eyes. If ya ask me, mister leg injury has a lesser chance of making it outta all this ok,”

“No,”

Enough pressure, and this would end in forceful action. A few exclamations of denial clearly hadn’t been quite enough, and the only action was a concerned glance, the first one in months, shot at Ichigo.

“Come on, dude. You’re my favourite, and you’re gonna pass up such an offer? To think that I liked you because you were smart. Now, one more time. We’re busy, so I need you to hurry up, and pick,”

“No,”

“Pick,”

“No,”

“If you don’t wanna pick, I suggest you listen to what I say. You. Are. My. Favourite,”

The choppy words occurred simultaneously with his footsteps that brought him closer to Ichigo; the former substitute was slumped against the back wall with his attention on the black haired, lean university student in front of him opposed to Uryu, whom Kurosaki was watching prior to the leader’s change of position. 

“Hi, strawberry. The name’s Daiki,” 

Daiki had raised his hand to wave, a seemingly genuine smile morphing into one of menace as he reached for the slit in Kurosaki’s outstretched left leg.

Shit.

The dull ache in his chest, one of the ailments that wasn’t caused by the man in front of him, had been completely redirected to his leg, though it came through with full force instead of the minimal effort given on behalf of his mental pain.

Shit.

It hurt.

It hurt in spite of the two times he’d been officially dead, and the man y he’d been run through. The pain was incomparable, and didn’t ebb much unlike the times he’d been injured in soul form. He was a human, and he felt as if he was about to reach his breaking point, which had been greatly reduced.

“Damn you,”

Ichigo wasn’t the only thing being broken, the sound of zip ties snapping overcoming the squelching of the wound the punk was knuckle deep in. His fingers moved sideways, towards the edge of the wound, and Kurosaki was preparing a string of insults until the kid toppled over, hovering in midair for a split second before landing sprawled out on the rough concrete patch beside the former substitute. 

Silence.

Nothing but silence, and the shifting of the controlled beams of light towards the two other boys’ leader. Silence that was soon broken by the pounding of feet as the punks retreated, and a small moan as Ichigo released the breath he’d been holding.

“He’s dead?”

“And he won’t shut up about it either,”

One more second, and the whole debacle would’ve provided the answer the other students were searching for.

“It wouldn’t have happened had I done what I should’ve done,”

“I don’t know how many times I’m gonna need to say this to you, but it’s not your fault,”

“Maybe not, but it’s not fair,”

“With the amount of times you’ve said that as of late, I need you to specify, unfortunately,”

“It’s not fair ‘cause I wanted to pick myself,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! i think this one is a lot better than the last. your opinions? anywhooo- huge thanks to ceru, if you're reading this or know them by name, for inspiring the plot of this one. -xoxo


	3. Held at Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revolver hanging loosely from Hirako’s fingers was tossed upwards, caught by the handle, and shoved into the holster hanging from the blonde’s left side. His left hand relinquished its grip on the gun, opting instead to reach a bit behind the holster, and finger his back pocket. The same pocket where a leather bound pocket knife lay, no longer folding in on itself. Ally or not, Shinji knew this was gonna be fun.

He will have, he had, many firsts considering how quickly change had managed to catch up with him as of late. The second he thought he had a moment to settle, to accept everything that had recently flooded into his life, something would crop up, breathing down his neck, and Ichigo would be racing off again. His first taste of agony, when he was fifteen, prompted his first mad dash to seek out safety, and he had been running since. Running nonstop since his family, mother, father, and twin sisters, were killed by a notorious gang leader that always seemed to escape confinement, supposedly because of his underlings' ties to the law enforcement. Murdered, and it was his, the one forced to watch it all, fault. They wound up dead in the living room prior to his return from high school simply because he was different. He was different in that he was the first to refuse Aizen's, the cunning escape artist that kick started Kurosaki's misery, deal. The same deal many had been offered before him, yet these criminals all accepted. He refused, no matter the money, compliments on his strength, and other meaningless offers thrown about the alleyway he found himself cornered in on his way home from school that Monday. The first day of the week he had turned the man who was all too intrigued in his development down, and the last day of the week his family was killed by Aizen's right hand man, a blind man, who had managed to kill four people without obtaining so much as a scratch.

Ichigo had run right back out of the house, once it registered who had committed the act, and he didn't stop. He didn't even halt once he reached one of Karakura's smaller police department outlets. He kept running, unable to stop until he was seventeen. Two years later, and his legs were worn out, and he couldn't take it anymore. He sold his old house, bought an apartment around the block from his school, and he breathed. He took a breath, closed his eyes, and he saw nothing but darkness. It scared him. He was seventeen, and he was afraid of the darkness he saw every time he closed his eyes, every time he looked inward. It was horrifying, so Ichigo ran. His legs ached, and his chest felt as if he were being stabbed, yet he picked himself up, and ran. No matter how far, how fast, he sprinted, it was still there, breathing down his neck, and eventually clouding his vision. Kurosaki could no longer see anything but that darkness, that anger, and perhaps that was why he didn’t know what had hit him when he quite literally stopped running.

This time, he didn’t slow down of his own will. No, he slowed down due to another’s will. Another’s will to kill him. Another person, whom that darkness that he feared wanted to swallow whole. Anger was bound to consume him the second he caught a glimpse of that silver hair, and so it did, bubbling up from the confines inside Kurosaki, welling up, and flowing over, reaching out to the silver haired gang member’s form through wildly thrown punches that never seemed to make a difference. He dodged with enough breath to comment on his feisty behaviour. He dodged, and that pissed the teen off further. 

“What do you want?” Kurosaki growled, his volume rising along with his fury.

“What do I want?”

There was a pause, a barely audible grunt, as the older of the two raised his black denim clad leg to land a kick in the center of Ichigo’s chest.

“I suppose there’s a lot I want. I know one thing you want, but as for me, you’re going to have to be more specific,”

There was a pause, a barely audible rustling of fabric, as the older of the two reached around his purple windbreaker clad waist to snatch something out from the now unconcealed holster.

“I guess I can assume you mean what I want with you. Well, I personally don’t want much with someone as weak as yourself. I’m simply completing a task to further my own wishes,”

There was a pause, a barely audible click, as the older of the two cocked the pistol, and secured his right pointer finger on the trigger of the gun he retrieved from his left side.

“What you really should be asking is, what in the world does Aizen-sama want with you? And, to answer your question, I still haven’t figured that man out. Scary, isn’t it?”

This time, Ichigo couldn’t run. He was slumped against a brick wall in a cramped alleyway, no hope for rescue, with a gun in his face that was too blurry to make out the model. He couldn’t run. All he could do was wait, and grimace at the thought that the blood dribbling down his chin wasn’t all that would be spilled today. 

“Gin!”

His death would be at the hands of Gin, he supposed that was his name seeing as it wasn’t his, and his blood, and pitch black anger would go to waste staining the concrete beneath him.

“Oh my, it appears I’ve been caught, doesn’t it Hirako-san?”

“Caught my ass. I don’t know what yer up to, but you certainly didn’t look like you were gonna kill that kid,”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“Well, I find it hard ta believe that an unloaded pistol will do much harm,”

“I guess I really have been caught. Pray don’t tell Aizen-sama. He’d be terribly pissed,”

“That’s funny, considering that man has never showed an inkling of emotion,”

“True. Like I said, scary, isn’t it?”

The conversation had faded into scuffling of feet, as well as multiple clicks coming from both sides of his head. If a gun fight were to break out, he’d be lucky if he survived, in spite of the fact that his desires were rather to not make it out of this. With the way time seemed speed, and slow around his stunned brain, he could have already lost everything, which was simultaneously nothing. Either way, it didn’t matter. In a few minutes, or perhaps it happened hours ago, he, or his blood would be running.

“Hey, kid. How old are ya? Gotta say you seem a bit young to be caught up with Ichimaru and them,”

“Fifteen. Been chasing me since I was fifteen,”

“Yeah? What crime did ya commit?”

“Innocent,” was Kurosaki’s slurred response, his eyes moving about just as awkwardly as his mouth as he attempted to make out the yellow, and orange smear before him.

“Shoulda figured. When it comes to who Aizen targets, they all are,”

“Aizen,” 

It wasn’t a question, an accusatory statement, it was nothing more than his second taste of the pain that caught up with him yet again.

“What’s yer name, kiddo?”

“Ichigo Kurosaki. ‘m seventeen. Karakura High,”

“The name’s Hirako. Shinji Hirako. Enemy of Aizen Sosuke. Welcome to the club,”

The revolver hanging loosely from Hirako’s fingers was tossed upwards, caught by the handle, and shoved into the holster hanging from the blonde’s left side. His left hand relinquished its grip on the gun, opting instead to reach a bit behind the holster, and finger his back pocket. The same pocket where a leather bound pocket knife lay, no longer folding in on itself. Ally or not, Shinji knew this was gonna be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am THRILLED to announce that this will be continued. those of you at fault know exactly who you are. i wrote this to get a feel, and tease for an idea i have inspired by ru/yaponsko2, glasspunk, and my lovely friend sky. thank you all for giving me such a wonderful, angsty idea. i am hoping i will be able to please you all, or at least make you cry once i finish all these challenges near the end of the year. <3


	4. Collapsed Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it felt as if his soulscape kept him alive, and, in a way, it did. It wasn’t simply because he couldn’t fight without the power he had been granted. Rather, it was because he was as good as dead, would rather be dead than alone, following the loss of his powers. It was because Tensa Zangetsu was the thing he dreamed of, yet didn’t specifically know he needed until he found and lost him.

Sometimes it felt as if his soulscape kept him alive, and, in a way, it did. It wasn’t simply because he couldn’t fight without the power he had been granted. Rather, it was because he was as good as dead, would rather be dead than alone, following the loss of his powers. It was because Tensa Zangetsu was the thing he dreamed of, yet didn’t specifically know he needed until he found and lost him. It was because he cried that first night without voices plaguing his exhausted brain, that first night where his friends were forced to take over his job. It was because death sounded so sweet about two months in, at least until he realized where death would lead him. It was simply because his soulscape made up two thirds of a whole that he couldn’t function without. 

Skyscrapers. If it weren’t for his father’s medical degree, and Kisuke’s mysterious healing kido, he’d have been holed up in a hospital nearly equivalent to a skyscraper for weeks. Or rather, holed up with Ryuken, a man who seemed too judgemental of Kurosaki to only be looking at his face. He was always back on his feet in days, and the one time he wasn’t, it quite literally killed him. It killed him slowly. First it was the guilt over how everyone felt obliged to treat him with care, then it was the loneliness that followed the absence of his friends, of his soul. It eventually turned into anger over the way everyone ignored him, the way they all couldn’t care less about what he did for them. It was killing him. He was quite literally crumbling apart, and he noticed the pain, but the ruins he lay in remained shrouded in shadows.

Hidden from view, similar to the underside of a skyscraper until it was brought to light by the sun’s change of position. A change of position that should’ve been for the better, yet forgiveness didn’t come that easy. Forgiveness didn’t come at all. He was pissed, simply communicating in order to get a job done for if something more was spoken of, he wouldn’t last. He’d fall apart. Not that he could crumble anymore. He realized that there was nothing left to break, once his ruins were brought to light upon his first time being sucked into his soulscape after regaining everything he lost. Almost everything. His sword, and his hollow had yet to make an appearance, that is an appearance beyond his typical shikai abilities, until he was run through, and the rubble was exposed. 

It was exposed, and he could see everything opposed to the limited view his former soulscape offered. 

“Ichigo.”

He realized he could breathe this time, and that the voice calling out to him was carried fairly well opposed to the muted tone forced upon the pieces of his soul during his last visit two years ago.

He realized that, despite being in shikai, it wasn’t the tone of someone far older, and wiser than himself. 

He realized that it was the tone of an equally frightened kid, though why, he didn’t know.

“Zangetsu? Tensa Zangetsu?”

Kurosaki’s voice was soft, gingerly padding around the subject of everything that had happened in the two years his soul was quite literally broken. He was afraid, not only for the body he left behind in the waking world, but for the piece of him that was already so close to breaking before they bid each other their final farewells. The substitute twirled around, looking out over the cream coloured buildings that lay in shambles nearly ten feet above what he assumed were the remnants of the flood that had previously submerged his soulscape. The buildings protruding from the calm ocean below were bone dry as far as he could tell; he could hear the sound of shuffling feet as he moved atop the pebble covered platform he had awoken on. Still, no matter how far he moved, constantly spinning in circles, there was nothing to be found other than a perfect mimicry of what he stood upon, clothed in his old shinigami garb, as well as a confused expression.

“Zangetsu!”

There was nothing soft about Ichigo’s second call. It was worried, frantic, and his breaking voice depicted it perfectly. He was afraid. He needed to find the pieces of him that were missing for far too long, and the only thing he could feel was the agony brought on by the thought that they, that he, could be lost forever. There had been nothing other than that pain for two years, the aching still not ebbing once he regained his powers. His friends had made an appearance, he was far from relieved seeing as the issue of them abandoning him had yet to be resolved, yet two thirds of him was still in hiding, keeping the years-old wound fresh.

“Hey! Listen to me!”

A pause.

“Please?”

The echo didn’t make it back to Kurosaki’s ears, the remnants of his pleading having been cut off by the rustling of fabric, and sounds of a sword ripping into cloth, and seconds later, flesh. He threw himself to the side, though the action didn’t save his shihakusho, and already scarred skin, from suffering a gash that ranged from his right shoulder to the left side of his waist. The substitute skidded to a halt, kneeling on one knee with his left hand clutching his injured chest, and his right patting the ground in search of the zanpakuto that had wiggled its way out of his grip.

“Wait! I don’t-” 

Ichigo learned to never expect an answer, and he didn’t. He expected an attempt to cut him while he was down, yet there was hesitation instead. That hesitation was the product of determining the advantages that would be given to Tensa Zangetsu by flash stepping behind his master. Advantages that the zanpakuto wanted. 

“There’s no time to wait! Can’t you see what you’ve done?”

The substitute’s response came in two forms instead of the one he was awaiting; another cut along his back, and a roar that portrayed nothing short of anger.

“Please! I don’t wanna fight you, damnit!”

“What do you want to do then? Talk? You want to sit, and talk while you’re unconscious, and dying? Again?”

There was nothing to say. There was nothing to do except to make him see. Except to throw down his sword yet again, and dodge. 

“You think you can do that again? You think you can get what you want simply by submitting to me? You idiot! Can’t you see everything has changed?”

“Changed, huh? It’s funny because you still look the same as the last time we spoke,”

He was angry. Zangetsu was angry, and Kurosaki figured his best bet was to remain calm, to speak calmly, to cover up his fear while his zanpakuto expelled its own. 

“I said can’t you see? The issue here is that you’ve changed so much.”

The sword in Zangetsu’s hand was black, just like the one on the ground. A sure sign that one third was still missing. A sure sign that the best that could be done right now was slashing, as well as a weakened Getsuga Tenshou. He had to dodge. He had to keep talking. 

“I said I don’t want to argue with you. It's because you’re right. I guess I have changed.”

Anger. It was gone as soon as it appeared, fear consuming the zanpakuto’s voice just as it had done upon Ichigo’s arrival into his soulscape. Fear swallowed Zangetsu’s tone, and his movements, forcing him to halt mid-swing, a slash that could’ve killed his wielder had he forgotten to hold back.

“I heard it. All of it. Every thought, every-”

This time Tensa Zangetsu was cut off, though by himself as opposed to the other who was gawking, clearly oblivious to the multifaceted attribute of his abilities. Oblivious as well to the nature of his abilities, but that was a ways away from the issue at hand.

“What?”

“You think I didn’t know? Everything you went through those two years - I was here. You seem to forget that Kuchiki, and those captains did nothing more than act as a catalyst.”

“Wait-”

“You think I didn’t know? That I wasn’t aware of every time you wrote my name on that paper, every time you cried for everything to come back, every time you wished they would go away again since you couldn’t forgive them? “

The zanpakuto’s voice was raised, yet still equally as hurt as Kurosaki’s softer tone.

“I was there. I was there watching you change, watching you break, watching this world fall apart even more, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. Again, you were hurt, and I had to watch.”

Countless times Ichigo had given himself up not only for those that he longed to protect, those that he loved, but for his zanpakuto. 

_ “Use me, and let me use you.” _

It was a phrase said on many occasions, and in many variations, and Kurosaki was sure today wouldn’t be the last time he’d give himself up for his zanpakuto whom he had indirectly hurt many times, having caused the rain to fall. It was his fault, though he supposed he was also to be credited for allowing Rukia to dry the rain, and he would give himself up, once again, to fix it. He would give himself up, and he would finally be whole again. He would have all three thirds of himself, missing only blood that had been spilt both in the waking world, and in his mind, as well as missing the  _ friends _ he still couldn’t bring himself to forgive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loooookkkk. this wasnt meant to be tensa/ichigo but it sure as hell sounds like it. i think i accidentally drug myself aboard a ship. anyways- hope you enjoyed! and feel free to look at it anyways you want. also, big thanks to mugwartmarrow for my ideas, to my beta AriadneKurosaki. <3


End file.
